Name of the Game
by ItsLukasBondevik
Summary: Playing Elves vs Humans means a lot more to Stan than he would ever choose to admit.


It had started out as a joke, Stan mused. As a game. A game that they had all taken with them for years and years longer that it really should have lasted. Well into middle school Stan would still pull out the wooden sword he had constructed with his dad and donned his cardboard helmet, painted silver and blue and donned with a red feather on top. At twelve years old he would round up Cartman and Butters and Kenny and Kyle, occasionally Craig, Clyde and Tweek too, to get back together to patch up their old costumes and play a round of Elves vs. Humans. It was almost always done in secret, as they didn't want to earn the scorn of their peers or of their parents but they couldn't help but participate in it still.

It was the most fun Stan ever had if he was being honest with himself.

The best part though, the part that secretly kept him bringing up these sessions, was the fact that he was a knight to Kyle's king. Not that he would tell anyone. It was a secret he barely wanted to admit to himself. But the feeling of standing beside Kyle as he made his speeches and behaved like a king was almost exhilarating. Even though he kept it to himself, sometimes his actions spoke so loudly he was surprised that Kyle wasn't more acutely aware.

He covered his face with a pillow as he recalled the day only a couple years past, his cheeks flushing hotly as he remember what he did on a spur of the moment impulse. Kyle and Cartman had been screaming at each other over the fence of Kupa Keep with Stan standing in the middle, feeling shameful and angry with a mistake that he made. "Stan is mine now, Kyle," Cartman said with a shit-eating grin that usually spread across his face. "He betrayed you!" His voice was grating and gleeful and it made Stan want to punch him and break out all his teeth.

At twelve years old Stan was taller than Cartman already and only getting taller, and he knew that he would be able to inflect some pretty incredible damage if he tried. "It was an accident!" Stan said before Kyle replied to Cartman and threw down his sword angrily into the dirt. "You don't play fair, Cartman!" He stuck out his tongue at the two of them, singing his 'na-na na-na na na' at the top of his lungs through the fence and Stan saw Butters was beside him, looking uncertain as to if he wanted to laugh or cry.

"Shut up, fatass," Kyle fumed, stooping down to the ground to pick up Stan's sword and taking him by the hand. "Let's go Stan." Kyle pulled him away from Kupa Keep and back towards his own house right down the street. Stan couldn't even look at him, all he could think about was how warm his hand was against his own. The warmth that permeated through the gloves made him feel at home despite the big mistake he made. It wasn't until they were in the sanctity of the throne room, also known as Kyle's bedroom, with the door closed, that his friend decided to look at him. "What the hell Stan?"

He frowned, having a difficult time meeting Kyle's green eyes as he spoke, "I didn't realize Cartman was trying to trick me. I didn't think he'd get the Stick. I'm sorry Kyle." Kyle pulled his crown off, his hat falling off with it, and tossed it to the carpeted floor of his bedroom.

"This is stupid," he declared, staring down at the heap on the floor furiously. "We're too old to play this anymore, why do we still do it? I don't even deserve to be king if my best friend can't even stick by me." He didn't sound like he meant it, more like he was just venting, but the words still cut Stan deeply. He didn't reply to him as he didn't know what to say, crushing his fists to his sides.

"I'm sorry Kyle," he offered, finally looking up from the ground to look his friend in the eyes. His bright red hair was curled around his face, the light dusting of freckles across his nose almost endearing rather than enraging the way that Cartman thought it. Stan stooped down and lifted up the hat and crown together, his friend looking almost unrecognizable without the hat at the very least. He straightened out the fabric of the ushanka and smiled at Kyle, still tentative as his friend's expression grew from angry to uncertain.

He perched the hat back atop his head with the crown wrapped around it, his eyebrows furrowed nervously. "Don't worry Kyle," Stan said kneeling down on one knee and taking Kyle's hand in his own, pressing his lips against his fingers. "You're the only king I answer to." He looked up at Kyle's face and saw that he was flushing red, his cheeks and neck pink but his expression soft.

Stan didn't realize how hard he was squishing the pillow against his face until he was difficult to breathe, his face burning red. Kyle's eyes had been so incredible that day and Stan was so embarrassed that he could barely think straight. He sat up in bed and let his pillow fall into his lap, his mouth skewed into a frown as he hung his legs over the edge of the mattress. It was late, nearly midnight almost three years after that embarrassing memory, and all he could think of to do was open his bedroom window and shimmy down the tree outside of his house, taking care not to snag his coat or hat on any of the branches. His sneakers crunched against the snow as he followed the sidewalk, his breath clouding in his face as he walked.

If he were still eight he would imagine he were a dragon, the breath his flames blowing out before him. But he was fifteen, he was too old to be thinking about things like that, and he ignored it as he stuffed his hands in his pockets. It was a short walk to Kyle's house and Stan absently dug up a few pebbles from beneath the soft, powdered foot of snow and began to toss them at the window on the far side of the house. It took three, maybe four, of the little stones to rouse his friend, who opened the window drowsily. His fiery red hair was a mess around his face, his eyes gummed together with sleep as he leaned over the windowsill.

"Stan? Dude, it's like midnight. What the hell?"

For a moment he didn't know what to say as he knit his eyebrows together in the middle, his hands still deep in the pockets of his coat as he stared up at his best friend. "Couldn't sleep. Can I come up?" Kyle blinked and then smiled, sending a jolt through Stan's chest as he disappeared from the window for a moment. The wait was short, and he was unrolling a metal ladder they had pooled together and bought from the Internet over the edge of his windowsill. Stan had been up this ladder probably nearly a hundred times; from the time he was twelve to now he spent more than one night sneaking out to Kyle's house when he couldn't sleep.

They hoisted the ladder up and stuffed it back under Kyle's bed before falling on the mattress together, arms under each other's backs. Stan made a point to stare up at the ceiling, his heart rate above normal as he felt Kyle's fingers grip his jacket slightly. "What's up man?" he asked after a while when Stan made no move to talk, the two of them still staring up at the ceiling.

"Just couldn't sleep," he answered honestly. "Too much on my mind." Kyle nodded sympathetically, rubbing at one eye to try and wake himself up more.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Not really." Kyle didn't make another move to ask him about it but as the night wore on, and Stan's brain kept ticking, he realized that his friend had long since fallen back asleep, his face tilted away from him on the pillow and towards the window. Stan sighed and gently moved his arm out from under Kyle's back to put his friend to bed. When he did though, Kyle grunted and turned over, clutching Stan's jacket stubbornly so he couldn't move even if he wanted to. Giving in perhaps a little too easily, Stan pulled the blanket around them both, pulling Kyle to his chest and resting his cheek against his poofy red hair. Kyle melted into him, his face buried in his chest and his own rising slowly with his breathing.

Stan frowned, a hand over his eyes and trying to find a way to fall asleep but it just wouldn't come. He felt like the weight of the world was on his chest right now, right next to his heart and filling him to the brim with feelings that he couldn't quite put a name to. "Hey Stan?" Kyle's voice was muffled into his jacket and Stan turned his gaze away from the ceiling to meet his friend's green eyes. He was so tired looking still, his brows pulled together in the middle and his mouth skewed into a frown.

"What's up, dude?" Stan asked, trying to remain unconcerned as Kyle shimmied up closer to him, his cheeks feeing warmer than they were just a couple of seconds ago. Kyle smiled and laid his head back down, his cheek pressed right against Stan's heart. He didn't know why, but the movement felt more intimate than the cuddling or anything else that they've been through together.

"Thanks for being here. I love you." Stan swallowed hard and nodded as Kyle dozed back off. He wasn't sure how to answer that, wasn't sure how to react or what to say. So he laid there with Kyle wrapped around him, listening to the wind blow the snow from the trees outside of his bedroom window and the crackling of the branches as they crashed against each other. The house was silent at four in the morning, and Stan wondered when would be a good time to leave; most likely before Kyle woke up again, that was for sure.

As he started to rise, Kyle was suddenly alert, his hand gripping his jacket and his eyes focused on Stan. "Why are you leaving?" he asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper and his hair falling into his face.

"Uh, well," Stan stammered, searching for the correct words to say as he sat up in Kyle's bed. "This is kind of… a little," at a loss, he finally blurted out, "gay." Kyle rolled his eyes and sat up from his spot on the bed, his arms crossed over his pajama shirt as he regarded Stan coldly.

"Who cares?" he said defensively, and Stan frowned at him, causing the anger to slowly melt away from Kyle's face. He wasn't sure what that meant, and his fifteen year old brain was having a hard time processing what he was hearing. After a moment of silence Kyle looked away and rolled over to the very edge of the bed, pulling his comforter around shoulders and saying nothing.

Awkwardly, Stan asked, "Should I, uh, should I go?" Kyle still remained silent and Stan debated what the best choice would be. He wasn't sure what would make Kyle angrier: staying here or leaving him. Despite knowing each other for over ten years, Kyle could be so difficult to read and Stan sometimes wondered if he could even call himself Kyle's best friend when he couldn't even tell half the time what was wrong with him. Gingerly, he crawled back under the comforter and carefully looped his arm around Kyle's waist, his breath held in trepidation. Kyle sighed heavily and scooted back into Stan, who tightened his arms around his friend's waist.

"You fucking piss me off." Kyle's voice was muffled and Stan smiled, closing his eyes and nuzzling his nose into Kyle's hair.

"I know, man."


End file.
